


Up The

by shiftylinguini



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A bit of Pregnancy Kink, Bets & Wagers, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Face-Sitting, Humor, M/M, Mpreg, Potions, Rimming, Romance, Switching, competitive conception, pregnant randiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 08:37:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16761715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftylinguini/pseuds/shiftylinguini
Summary: “I feel I need to point out,” Draco kissed gently over Harry’s Adam’s apple, “that this is the most Gryffindor approach to conception that could possibly exist.”Or: Harry's had madder ideas.





	Up The

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a fill for the prompt of ‘rimming’ for Daily_Deviant, back forever ago, and somehow turned into over 7k of mpreg randiness. I feel way less contrite about this than I possibly should. 
> 
> Huge thank you to bixgirl for looking this over roughly a million years ago - all remaining mistakes are mine! (and apologies for any inaccuracies here re buns in ovens!). And as always, if there is something you think I should tag, please drop me a line :)

~*~

It was Harry’s idea, really.

“Harry ―” Draco started.

“No, okay, just hear me out.” Harry held his hands out in front of him. “We both want this, right?” he said evenly, raising both brows. “Like, a baby?”

“Yes, obviously.” Draco crossed one ankle over the other, folding his arms as he leaned back against the kitchen counter. “But I’m not really sure this,” he waved one hand at the two vials of potion Harry had procured from the Healers and left on the kitchen table, “is the best way to approach resolving the issue of parenthood.”

“Sure it is!” Harry replied enthusiastically. “I mean, it’s better than flipping a coin, innit? This way, we don’t have to decide who carries the baby. We just, you know.” Harry mimed drinking. “Take an equal dose, at the same time, and then ―”

“Shag the living daylights out of each other?” Draco’s lips curved into a small smile. Harry shrugged, refusing to blush. Which, of course, had absolutely no effect on whether he was blushing or not. 

“Yeah, I mean.” He stuffed his hands into his jeans. “Well, we don’t have to. S’just an idea. You know, considering we weren’t really sure, well, we hadn’t decided who would, like. Carry the baby, and this way we don't have to keep weighing up the pros and cons and playing one-on-one Quidditch to decide it, which. I mean we just keep tying every time we do, so.” He looked at the fertility potions, sitting innocuously on the bench, and then back again. “So this is a good decider,” he mumbled. 

Harry scratched his cheek, aware he was babbling in a way he hadn’t around Draco in a long time; they were practically married for god’s sake, why was Harry coming over all shy now? They’d established they were both okay with being the carrier for the child they wanted to try and have, but the problem was they still hadn’t been able to make an actual decision regarding who would actually do it. 

Harry had recently been promoted to Head Auror, and Draco was in his second year as captain of Puddlemere United. Both jobs were high profile, lucrative, and not exactly best performed while up the duff. Not to mention who would take paternity leave ― Harry’s job had better systems set up for that, but both of their careers would likely take a hit if they took a prolonged leave of absence to raise a child. They’d each agreed they were willing to take it, but Draco didn't want Harry to damage his stellar rise through the Auror ranks, and Harry didn't want Draco to ruin his chance of taking Puddlemere to the Quidditch World Cup this year; the team were so, _so_ fucking close. Harry thought that at least his way they would just both take the fertility decoction, and then deal with the aftermath when it happened. 

The aftermath being, one of them would be pregnant. It would definitely be more proactive than spending another night staring at their pros and cons chart and being aggressively supportive of each other. 

“Hmm.” Draco raised his shoulders, arms tightening around his middle as he thought. “Could work, yeah.” He twisted his mouth to the side. “Could also work a bit too well, though.”

“Huh?”

“Well,” Draco rumbled, stepping closer to Harry. “What if we both get pregnant?” he wondered, moving closer and running his lips against Harry’s cheek.

“Oh.” Harry licked his lips, tilting his head to better let Draco kiss over the line of his neck. “Guess we’ll….need a bigger house, then?” Harry muttered, closing his eyes as Draco kissed over his neck. He felt goosebumps shiver over his skin as Draco laughed, his soft breath puffing over his collarbone. 

“I feel I need to point out,” he kissed gently over Harry’s Adam’s apple, “that this is the most Gryffindor approach to conception that could possibly exist.”

Harry bit his lip. “Does that mean you’re not up for it?”

Draco sniffed, that small smile still dancing around his lips as he looked at Harry from underneath his pale fringe. He straightened, then Summoned both potions, handing one to Harry. 

“Bottoms up,” he said softly, chinking his vial against Harry’s. Harry huffed a laugh, pulling the cork stopper on his and trying to get a grip on the butterflies in his stomach as he lifted the vial to his lips. 

The potion tasted awful. 

“Merlin, like an old raisin that’s been marinating in a sock.” Draco’s mouth stretched open, his face twisting into a grimace as he shuddered. 

“A dirty sock,” Harry agreed vehemently, trying not to gag, “that’s been out in the sun, fuck.”

Draco wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Well, that’s got me right in the mood,” he said sarcastically, gently tossing his empty vial into the sink. It landed with a clunk, Harry’s making an even louder sound as he threw it in too. He hummed contemplatively, then turned to Draco. 

“Wanna fuck me?”

Draco’s eyes flashed as he grinned, then pulled Harry towards him by the hem of his top. “Oh look at that, I’ve suddenly recovered.” 

Harry laughed ― and then almost tripped over Draco’s Quidditch boots ― as Draco steered him backwards towards their bedroom.

~*~

“Oh, fuck!”

“Yes, Draco, shi ― oh, _shit_!” 

Harry pushed his hair away from his sweaty forehead as he canted his hips up higher, feeling Draco slip in deeper and hit ― _oh god, yes_ ― that spot that make him see stars. He dug one heel into Draco’s arse, gripped the pillow underneath his head tight as he tried to focus on the feeling of Draco’s cock as it pistoned into him again and again, on the way his balls felt as they slapped against his arse ― and on not bloody coming. Harry groaned, curling his toes and feeling his mouth drop open on a low grunt as Draco leaned down close, hitching one of Harry’s legs up around his waist and curling his fingers around Harry’s knee.

“Merlin, you feel so good,” Draco mumbled, sucking at the skin of Harry’s throat. Harry bit his lip, stomach muscles taut and shoulders tense with the effort it took not to touch himself, but he was _Not. Bloody. Coming. **Yet.**_

“Fuck, I’m close.” Draco’s palms skidded against the sheets, hair falling over his eyes as he dropped to his elbows. 

Harry sighed in relief, nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah, do it.”

“Fuck,” Draco panted, pushing back up onto his hands. He pulled out, cock dragging over the oversensitive rim of Harry’s arse, before he thrust down hard, and then again, his rhythm turning erratic. 

“Do it,” Harry repeated, “I want you to, to ―” Harry pressed his lips together, trying to curb the stream of filthy nonsense that wanted to fall out of his mouth. He felt ‘ _I want you to come inside me and make me pregnant_ ’ might be a bit much as far as the things they had previously introduced into their bedroom dirty talk repertoire, but then again Harry had been wanking to the idea of that ― of Draco’s come inside him, of him whispering filth into Harry’s ears as he filled him up ― for about a fortnight, so what the hell. It was definitely going to make Draco come faster, that was for sure. 

Harry messily kissed Draco’s neck, up to his ear. He gently pulled the lobe between his teeth. “I want you to fill me up,” he mumbled, aiming for sexy and breathless. That’s definitely how he felt, at least, as well as just sweaty and insanely turned on. Harry bit down again, softly, as he heard Draco groan, low and guttural.

“Shit, let me sort you ―” Draco tried to move his hand between them to grip Harry’s prick, but Harry stopped him, pulling Draco’s hand to land on the bed beside his head. Harry was _not_ going to come yet, even if he was accidentally talking himself off and Draco’s cock was ― _fuck_ ― bumping up against his prostate on every second stroke. He had a plan here. 

Harry took a deep breath, or as much of one as he could manage considering Draco was fucking him halfway up the bed. “I want you to come, I wanna feel it inside me, making me, _oh_ god, keep doing that, just like that, yes ― _no_ , oh shit don’t touch me,” Harry ended on a whine, feebly slapping Draco’s hand away as he reached for Harry’s cock again. 

“I’m getting some, ah,” Draco laughed, a breathless huff of air that Harry felt over his face as he dropped his hand back to the bed again. “Some very mixed messages here.”

“No you’re not,” Harry said, just to be contrary. He bit his lip, curled his fingers around each of Draco’s wrists. He hitched his legs up higher, thighs burning from the strain of it all and a delicious ache building inside him as Draco pumped his hips. “God, just keep fucking me, like that,” Harry ground out, “and like, ignore my dick.”

Draco laughed again, incredulous and pink-cheeked as he stared down at Harry. “Okay, if that’s what you ―” 

“Want, yep,” Harry finished for him, “Now, more fucking, less talking, there’s a good boy.”

This time Draco’s laugh ended on a groan. “God, you’re ridiculous.” Draco thrust in hard, then stayed there, rolling his hips before pulling back and picking up the pace again. Harry managed a strangled “Mmhmm”, before he shut his eyes, breathing out harshly through his nose and trying to get a grip. He was meant to be making Draco come first, not getting off himself, bloody hell. Fat lot of good it would be with both of them having taken the potion if Harry blew his load before he even got Draco on his stomach, and _ohh hell_ , don’t think about that. Harry scrunched his face up, his cock hard and dripping, leaving a wet smear against his belly. 

Draco huffed what might have been a laugh. “Harry, you look ―”

“Sexy,” Harry interrupted, ignoring the amused lilt of Draco’s voice. “I look sexy and like you wanna come in me.” 

As far as distraction techniques went, it was very effective. Draco grunted, bottom lip caught between his teeth and the humour leaving his face as his thrust turned choppy. His hair was sticking to his forehead, the damp tendrils turned a darker blond as they curled over his brows and down his neck. God, he was so fucking fit. Harry dug his fingers into Draco’s wrists, grinned at the hissed intake of breath that earned him. Draco always liked things tinged with an edge of pain, Harry had learned, and from the glassy look in his eyes it was working now. 

“You want to come in me,” Harry continued, determined to both get Draco off and see exactly how far he could take this whole new strain of dirty talk. Apparently he was into it. Harry was always a fan of riding new kinks out. “Getting me messy, knocking me up.”

“Oh hell.” Draco’s hips worked faster, head dropping so low his hair was tickling Harry’s collarbone now. It was a bit nice. 

“You want that, don’t you?” Harry lifted his legs higher, one heel digging into the small of Draco’s back. Draco choked out an affirmative sound. “Come on Draco, do it, I want to feel you making me pr―”

“Oh _fu_ ―” Draco stilled, breath whistling through his teeth as he ground his hips hard against Harry’s arse. He lifted Harry off the bed slightly, arms around around his middle as his orgasm rocked through him, and Harry bit his lip, a frantic mantra of _god that’s hot, don’t come, that’s so hot, do not **come**_ running through his head as he felt Draco’s cock twitch and spurt inside him. He pulled his lower lip into his mouth, reciting old Quidditch moves in his head and trying not to get swept away by the feeling of Draco’s stomach as it brushed over his aching cock. Draco hissed as Harry ground his arse against Draco’s hips, keeping him inside him. Pale hair tickled over Harry’s cheek, then his neck as Draco panted above him then bent his head. 

“Fuck me. That was...” Draco trailed off, leaning his weight onto one arm and wiggling the other hand down between them. He began to stroke Harry’s aching cock. The touch was ― oh, _god_ ― so welcome, but also so very not welcome at the same time. Harry swallowed his moan, feeling Draco’s cock slip wetly out of him, before he swatted Draco’s hand away. 

“Don’t you want ― oh.” Draco landed on his back as Harry tipped him over and climbed on top of him. He shook his hair out of his eyes in triumph, cock jutting out before him. He gripped it, fisted it slowly then stopped, moving his hands to Draco’s thighs. He stared at Draco’s soft cock, then back up at his face. Draco smirked back at him lazily. 

“What’re you so pleased about?” Harry said, running his hands over Draco’s hip bones. Draco raised his eyebrows as if Harry was being especially thick, which he possibly was; it was always just that little bit harder to string together coherent, sensible thoughts when Draco was naked and underneath him. The smirk did get him off a bit, too. 

“I just had an orgasm, Potter,” Draco said smugly, brushing his hair back and rolling his shoulders. “Of course I look pleased.” He looked down at Harry’s impressive erection, licked his lips. “You sure you don’t want me to…” He made another languid gesture with his hand, and Harry groaned. He pushed Draco’s fingers away, slipped his hands behind Draco’s knees and dragged him closer. 

Draco’s hair caught on the mattress as he laughed. “You know, we don’t need to do this,” he said archly, letting Harry lift his legs around his waist. Harry looked at him quizzically through his messy fringe.

“Come again?”

“Exactly.” Draco grinned, slow and sated. He stretched one leg out until his ankle was resting on Harry’s shoulder. “We don’t need to come again.” He dropped one arm to the bed beside his head, then stretched languorously. His grin widened, growing more mischievous and self-satisfied at the same pace as Harry’s frown deepened. 

“What, you’re suddenly turning selfish in bed?”

“Oh, you can fuck me,” Draco lifted his hips to emphasise the point. “In fact, I insist on it. But the job’s done.”

“The jo ― oh, nice Draco.” Harry laughed breathlessly. “Is that a fact, is it?”

“Yes,” Draco stretched again. “We just discussed this, didn’t we?”

“What ― oh.” Harry laughed. “That was just dirty talk, Draco ―” 

“ _Filthy_ talk,” Draco interrupted happily. 

“― not a premonition.”

Draco shrugged, still smiling lazily. He flopped a hand in a careless gesture. “As good as one, though. Malfoy men are very virile.”

Harry slipped a pillow beneath Draco’s slightly raised hips. “Oh, are they?”

“Yes.” Draco’s grin widened into almost Cheshire cat proportions. “I myself was conceived on my parents’ wedding night.”

Harry made a face. “Okay, first, _ew_ ―”

“Prude.” 

“And second, your parents have been married now for thirty years, so I think someone needs to revisit that math.” 

Harry licked his lips, looking down at his slightly less hard cock as Draco counted in his head. At least the introduction of the Malfoys senior had taken the edge off Harry’s need to come, he thought, clinging to that silver lining as he tried very hard not to think about wedding nights and Draco’s parents. He gripped himself again, stroking his cock and running his hand over Draco’s belly, down the soft thatch of slightly damp hair between his legs. He tugged on it lightly. 

“Oh, whatever,” Draco waved a hand, adjusting the pillow underneath him and getting comfortable. “I was conceived quickly, and easily ―”

“Two years is hardly quick.”

“ ― _and easily_ ,” Draco repeated, batting his foot against Harry’s head. Harry ran his hand contemplatively over the back of Draco’s thighs, felt the firm muscle and the catch of the hair on them. 

“Maybe members of the Black family are just especially fertile,” he said in a low voice, leaning down to run his lips over Draco’s. The movement brought his flagging erection into contact with Draco's arse, and Harry bit his lip, sighing. “We’ll find out soon, anyway.” He brushed his mouth against Draco’s, felt him hum in response. 

“Yes.” Draco nipped his lips lightly. “We will find out that I am exceptionally _virile_ ―”

“God.” Harry laughed as he began kissing down Draco’s chest. 

“ ― in six month's time, when you are heavy with my child.”

“Draco.” 

“A testimony to my exceptional sperm.”

“Oh my _god_ , Draco!” Harry bit playfully at Draco’s stomach, looking up at Draco’s grin. “Will you shut up?”

Draco leaned up onto his elbows. “Make m ― _ah_!” Draco’s low drawl turned into a sharp intake of breath as Harry moved his hands to his arse, spreading him wide at the same as he lifted him and buried his face between Draco’s arse cheeks. 

“Oh, fuck.” Draco relaxed against the sheets, one heel running over Harry’s back as Harry ran his lips and then his tongue around Draco’s hole. Harry did it again, felt a shiver of arousal run through him as he felt the muscles in Draco’s arse and legs tensing, felt Draco’s hands curling into his hair and pulling his face closer to his body. “Jesus, Harry,” he muttered. 

“Mmm.” Harry pressed his thumbs next to his lips, running one around Draco’s rim, before licking a long wet stripe from Draco’s perineum to his balls. He sucked one into his mouth, tasted the salt of Draco’s sweat, the bitter tang of his come, then moved lower once more. He opened his mouth, pressing his tongue inside, listening for the telltale hitch of Draco’s breath. If there was ever a better way to get Draco to stop talking ― stop talking coherently, at least ― Harry had yet to find it. He pushed his tongue deeper, fingers tense against Draco’s arse cheeks as Draco rocked his hips, fucking back against his face. Harry inhaled sharply, moaning as his cock ground against the bed sheets before he pulled back. 

Draco pulled at Harry’s hair, trying to push him back. “No no no, don’t stop, keep ―” 

“I’m going to fuck you,” Harry announced, Summoning the lube and slicking his erection. 

“Yes, yeah,” Draco mumbled, cheeks flushing and soft prick starting to fill out again as it lay against his belly. “Fuck, yes, do that.” He moaned, all teasing forgotten as Harry lined up, slowly thrusting inside. 

Draco was anything but quiet after that.

***

Two weeks later,Harry found to his surprise that Draco was actually right.

Apparently, he _was_ pretty virile. 

Harry stared down at the test in his hand, the paper slip turning blue as he pulled it out of the ConceptiTest Potion solution. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled, feeling giddy and stupid and revoltingly happy, and not a small bit terrified too. “It worked.” He turned slightly stunned eyes to Draco, who was looking a little bit stunned himself as he casually held his own ― dull red ― paper slip. 

“Show off,” Draco said fondly as he flipped the paper at Harry. It fluttered to the floor and he crowded Harry up against the bathroom sink. “Had to steal the limelight didn’t you,” he muttered gently, eyes shining and bright as he smiled, kissing Harry's cheek, his jaw, his temple. 

“We’re gonna have a baby.” Harry stared at the wall. “Merlin’s _tits_ , we’re going to have a fucking baby.”

“Yes.” Draco wound his arms around his waist, rested his forehead against Harry. “And only one, thank heavens.” He kissed Harry gently, and Harry wasn’t sure if he was imagining the slightly wistful tone in Draco’s voice, or if he just wanted it to be there. 

“Would it have been so bad if, you know.” He shrugged one shoulder, still holding the blue positive paper slip tight between forefinger and thumb. “If it had worked too well?”

Draco pulled back searching his face. He slowly shook his head, nose brushing against Harry’s and grey eyes soft. “Wouldn’t’ve been the end of the world,” he mumbled, kissing Harry slowly, and then harder. He ran his hand down Harry’s arm, down to where he held the paper, and slipped his palm around it. Harry sighed into the kiss, his head spinning and his heart thumping. 

He rested his free hand against the towel rack as his knees went weak in a way he was very familiar with and would also never, ever tell Draco about; his ego would reach planetary proportions if he ever caught wind of the fact he could sometimes literally make Harry feel like swooning. 

For now, Harry decided to blame it on hormones, even though it was possibly too early in for him to be able to do that. And at least they weren’t going to have to buy a new house to accommodate two extra additions to the family. 

Not yet, anyway, Harry thought giddily as Draco undid the last button of Harry’s shirt, slipping it open and then dropping to his knees.

***

The worst thing about being pregnant, Harry soon realised, was not the fact that he was getting huge.

Which is not to say he wasn’t; he felt bloody enormous, although that was mostly because he just wasn't used to carrying weight _there_. He was convinced he was hungry enough for three, or even four, people — which was surprising considering he was only eating for himself and one very normal sized baby. Harry was only five and a half months in, and he was a slim bloke ― still all knobbly knees even though he’d filled out a bit from years of Auror training ― but if anything, being on the slight side just made his new belly even more noticeable. He loved it, he had to admit, even felt a bit sexy with it at first, but there were times when he did wish he could suck his tummy in and just go for a fucking jog. He had a feeling that would just result in him tripping over his own (swollen) feet and then rolling in a graceless heap through Coventry Gardens, a suspicion fuelled by the fact he couldn’t fit into any of his jeans anymore. Or his trackie bottoms. Or some of his sodding _pants_ for that matter. Honestly, was he gestating an entire fucking Quidditch team, including equipment and a commentator?

He was going to bloody murder Draco if he was. 

The mood swings weren’t the worst thing either; although, they _were_ pretty impressive. The only thing worse than being hormonal was feeling like everyone thought he was being an irrational tit because of it, or that he should be lingering at home in a powdering gown and curlers rather than being able to just get on with things. Not that there was anything wrong with taking it easy (or curlers, for that matter; Teddy did a fine job putting them in Harry’s hair when they had a sleepover last summer), Harry just resented the implication that he would need that as soon as he started showing. He wasn’t a bloody invalid, for crying out loud, he was just a bit sore and his centre of gravity was shot to pieces, and he missed coffee like he never knew it was possible to miss something in this world and oh my god how could he need to pee again, he just _went_ for fuck’s sake. 

But those things aside, he was in fine form, and he was still working, because there was no way he was going to sit at home for nine bloody months getting fat on cream biscuits and expanding exponentially in all directions. No, he was Head fucking Auror, and he would continue to be _Head fucking Auror_ even while lugging a small human around inside him and bursting at the seams, thank you very much, Deputy Head Auror Stephens. Harry knew the fucker was eyeing his job, what with all the faux-nice comments about how Harry was _‘starting a family now, aren’t you, and surely you’ll want to take some time off?’_ which the sod kept pointedly saying over morning tea. Bugger that, and bugger Stephens, and most of all bugger herbal tea, because it was no substitute for coffee and Harry was fucking _pining_ for a latte. 

But he could still do his job fine without one. It just meant that he kept asking to smell Laura’s during staff debriefings. Harry did also find he couldn't go out on the field without feeling the need to apologise to the baby every step of the way. And he was definitely still mortified about the time he’d spilled some of a Confidius Reduction on his stomach and had to Floo home in a panic to ask Draco if he could accidentally give a baby some kind of damage via osmosal potion absorption. 

The answer was no, which Draco had felt the need to deliver via equally panicked lecture to Harry regarding the safety of the gestating child, adding that maybe Harry should take the offered time off work and, well, gestate somewhere a little less exciting. This in turn had made Harry roaringly angry, because he couldn’t just not do his job and it wasn’t like he did it on purpose, or like he was going to be dangling the baby over a vat of the stuff, _it was just a small spill, for Godric’s sake_! 

Harry only really registered that he’d screamed that in Draco’s stunned face once he was done, which did make him realise he was reacting a little more animatedly than he usually would. It had taken him another hour to apologise to Draco about it, but he suspected that was actually some kind of record between them in terms of making up; they were both capable of a mean sulk, and Draco was reigning king of the silent treatment, as was decreed after the great Christmas Brussel Sprout debacle of 2002. (It wasn’t Harry’s fault he forgot them, honestly, there was no need for Draco to cause such a stink about it, since when does Christmas cheer depend on the sodding _sprouts_?).

Draco had apologised right back, by saying it that it was only reasonable for Harry to be a little tetchy, considering there was a small person using Harry’s kidneys and bladder as alternating foot rests, and that he was currently at the mercy of magically simulated hormones Draco himself couldn't actually pronounce. And then he’d offered Harry a back massage. Harry could have cried with relief. 

He wasn’t even going to think about the time he’d spilled his tea on some paperwork and actually _did_ burst into tears. He was taking that one to the grave. 

But the mood swings, and the huge belly, the weird stares from people who couldn't understand why on earth he had suddenly ballooned, and the articles in the Prophet about how the baby wasn’t really Draco’s and was the result of a torrid affair Harry was having with Ron ― well, Harry could cope with all of those things just fine. Better than Ron and Draco were coping with the last one, even, though it had caused some impromptu outraged bonding between them, while Harry and an equally pregnant Hermione bonded with a few bowls of ice cream on the sofa. And then a pack of Ferrero Rochers. And then about six Curly Wurlies. 

Each. 

But Harry was coping okay with being a twenty eight year old pregnant elephant. What he was finding distinctly unexpected and infuriating was that he was so fucking _horny_. 

It was like a kind of second puberty, Harry thought as he sat up in bed, cock throbbing between his legs at ― he glanced grumpily at the bedside clock ― two am in the fucking morning. He pulled another pillow behind his head, let his neck rest against it. He couldn't remember the last time he’d been woken up by an erection. Woken up _with_ an erection, yes, that was par for the course of penis ownership, but it wasn’t normal at all for him to be pulled into wakefulness because his dick was so hard he couldn’t hold onto his sleep. He grimaced, curling his toes and resting his hand on the curve of his belly. He looked down at it grumpily. 

He felt stupid, he thought. Stupid, and huge, and turned on. He suddenly missed his old body, as he listened to Draco stir, or at least Harry missed what his body used to do. It had been far less unpredictable; other than the odd bout of food poisoning, some achy joints, a few weird reactions to cheese, Harry felt like his body had become pretty reliable since Hogwarts. At the moment he felt like he didn’t know what his body was going to throw at him next. 

“H’rry?” Draco mumbled, pushing up onto his elbows and looking only about 23% awake. His hair was sleep-messy and ruined, sticking up one one side like a particularly blond feather duster

Harry grunted in reply, too furiously turned on and determined to wallow in his middle-of-the-night body crisis to speak properly. 

“Y’r up.” Draco rubbed one eye. 

“Ten points to Slytherin,” Harry snapped. “For accurately stating the fucking obvious.”

“And you’re cranky,” Draco said rolling on his back with a yawn. 65% awake, now, Harry reckoned. “Wake up hungry again?”

“No, I‘m not always bloody hungry, Draco!” Harry clenched his jaw, shaking his hair out of his eyes. 

“Merlin. Sorry,” Draco said softly, eyelids fluttering as he tried to blink himself properly awake. He sat up against the headboard, resting his head against Harry’s shoulder. “Can’t sleep?” he murmured. “You moody wanker,” he added playfully, testing the boundaries of how pissed off Harry actually was rather than trying to add to it. It had taken him a while, but Harry could tell the difference now. 

“No.” Harry glared at the shape of the wardrobe. He sighed. He was being moody. And he did want a wank. “Sorry I woke you,” he said. 

“‘s’fine.” Draco waved a hand, still loose and groggy from having only just woken up. “‘m a light sleeper.” 

He smiled crookedly and Harry snorted at the lie of it; they both knew Draco could sleep through the apocalypse, which was one of the things that had surprised Harry about that first night they’d slept together after an exceptionally dull and drunken Ministry function when they were nineteen. Of course, the first surprise had been that they’d managed to spend an entire evening together without trying to kill each other, beyond the snapped conversation at the beginning of the evening and Harry hitting his head on a shelf during their frantic, drunken grope in the cloakroom when they were meant to be leaving. 

He wasn’t sure if it was the bottle of champagne he’d drunk, the risk of getting caught, or if it was potentially even a mild concussion, but it was still up there as one of the best shags of Harry’s life. The sex had again been bloody fantastic the next time they hooked up, in the garden of a fundraising gala for Hogwarts students who couldn't afford their own instruments or something. Harry couldn't remember, he only went because Hermione had dragged him there, and to be honest because he heard the Malfoys were going and he was hoping to cop a snog with Draco behind the hydrangeas. Anyway, he could be forgiven for forgetting about whether little Timmy the second year was going to get a trumpet or not when Draco had three fingers in his arse and Harry’s cock down his throat. Harry was often likely to forget his own name or how his legs worked when Draco did that. 

The fifth time they hooked up they even made it to a _bed_ , which was thrilling in its novelty. By that point Harry had figured it wasn’t a boozy, bumped-head fluke, or that Harry had a secret thing for getting off in risky places but that he actually just quite liked getting off with Draco. And then getting breakfast with him afterwards. He liked it less when they fought, which they managed to put off for the first year by pretending that neither of them had emotions beyond ‘kindly touch my dick, please’, and that Harry didn’t still have aching nightmares or that Draco wasn’t still terrified of naked flame. That had stopped working very well by Harry’s twenty-first, when Harry became aware that a) he had proper feelings for Draco, which might start with the letter L and rhyme with _‘dove’_ , and b) that he possibly had a bit of baggage from the war. He’d begrudgingly sought counselling, which was Ron’s idea of — all bloody people —but it had helped Harry, even if talking about how he felt was a ball ache he could have lived without. Well, or not; Harry would happily prattle on to a series of counselors about his weird dreams and messy childhood if it meant he didn’t fuck things up with Draco. Draco was just as willing to do the same. Seven years on, and they were still great at pissing each other off but really, _really_ great at talking about it afterwards and remembering to explain why they were acting out and not assume the other could read their minds. They were actually great at this relationship crap, and Harry had big plans of sticking around and annoying Draco into old age, and so, well, here they were. 

Harry frowned. Here being pissy and pregnant and horny. He slumped down against his propped up pillow, even pissier and hornier than before. He thankfully stayed exactly the same amount of pregnant. 

Across from him, Draco looked puffy-eyed and sleepy, his cheek creased from the pillow and his mouth twisted in that soft little half-smile he always wore when he was just waking up and hadn’t remembered that he was raised to always look haughty and like he had half a lemon stuck up his nose. His hair was sticking up on the side he’d slept on, an enthusiastic testimony to how well Draco had been sleeping, and his skin was warm as he rested his bare shoulder against Harry’s. Harry’s cock twitched and he stifled a groan, lifting one leg to try and hide it. He felt the tickle of Draco’s hair as he turned, then kissed the bump of Harry’s shoulder. 

“Harry?” he mumbled, kissing Harry’s shoulder again. “Did you wake up... something other than hungry?”

“God.” Harry huffed a laugh, settling back against the pillow. “I’ll go and have a wank in the loo,” he grumbled, a little self-deprecating and a lot embarrassed. 

Draco hummed, fingers against Harry’s chin as he tilted Harry’s face towards him, kissing his neck, then his jaw. 

“Don’t you dare.” Draco pulled Harry down next to him, with only marginal groaning from Harry. They lay face to face, Draco kissing down Harry’s neck. 

Another kiss against his neck, Draco’s fingers trailing lower until they reached the line of Harry’s pants; he couldn't be bothered wearing much else to bed these days. Draco hummed as he traced the outline of Harry’s erection. “What do you want?” 

“To sleep,” Harry grumbled, closing his eyes as Draco ran his fingers up and down his cloth-covered cock. Draco chuckled against his skin.

“What will help you sleep?” 

“Mm.” Harry tilted his head back, rolling forward against Draco's hand. 

“This?” Draco asked, cupping Harry firmly and stroking him through the material of his underwear. 

“God.” Harry nodded, letting Draco ease his underwear down. The curve of his stomach pressed against the flat of Draco’s as Draco kissed him. “You have training tomorrow,” Harry said breathily against Draco’s lips. He rolled his hips again, felt Draco press the flat of his palm against the damp material at the head of Harry’s cock. 

“At five.” Draco lay back, pulling Harry onto his stomach. It was awkward, Harry’s belly in the way. He braced his hands on the bed, looking at Draco’s sharp grey eyes, just visible in the dim moonlight streaming in through his window. 

“You need to sleep,” Harry whispered, unable to stop himself from grinding down against the firm ridge of Draco’s thigh. 

“Who cares about sleep.” Draco ran his hand around the curve of Harry’s arse, underneath his underwear. He pressed his fingertip against Harry’s hole. “I want to eat you,” he mumbled against Harry’s mouth. 

“Oh, fuck,” Harry groaned, kissing him wet and deep. “I don't think I can, on my stomach,” he mumbled in between slick slides of his lips, pressing himself harder against Draco’s leg. “Or my back, to be honest,” he added, laughing softly at the idea of of trying to pull his legs up. He probably could ― he was fit, and still agile enough these days ― but he doubted it would be very comfortable, without, perhaps, a series of complicated levitation spells to keep his legs in the air. Or maybe a winch. He wasn’t sure how sexy that would end up being. 

Draco hummed, then slapped Harry’s thigh gently. “Sit up here,” he gestured at his face, pulling Harry more fully on top of him. He bit his lip as Harry stared incredulously down at him. 

“What, no.” Harry laughed again as Draco jostled him, running his hands to his elbows and gripping him gently. “I’ll squash you.”

“Piss off,” Draco said affectionately, running one hand back to Harry’s arse and easing his underwear down. “You’re hardly impressive enough to squash me,” he rumbled, sucking Harry’s lower lip into his mouth. Harry groaned, ending on a soft laugh. 

“I weigh about four hundred pounds right now,” Harry complained. It didn’t stop him from rubbing up against Draco’s thigh. God, he had nice legs. They’d been all skinny and matchsticky back at Hogwarts, when Draco had that growth spurt and it was like his body had been through a pasta roller and left him all long and haughty and scrawny. Puberty was the worst. Now, after a few solid years of professional Quidditch training and a regimented diet, Draco’s legs were bloody magnificent. Harry kept rubbing his stiff prick against the warm muscle of Draco’s thigh. He kind of wanted to rub his face on it now, too. 

“You do not.” Draco grinned. “You’re three hundred pounds, tops. Now get up here.”

“Draco, I'm huge,” Harry insisted. 

“Harry, you’re not.” Draco lifted one leg until Harry was straddling him. “Ego? Enormous.” Draco slid down the bed as Harry braced one hand on the headboard. “Cock?” Draco licked along the base of Harry’s prick, and Harry suppressed a moan. “Largish, I’ll grant you that.” He grinned, hands on Harry’s thighs and urging him up to his knees. “Now, up.” He pushed Harry up towards his face and Harry went easily, both hands now gripping the headboard as Draco settled underneath him and between his legs. 

Harry spared a moment to feel ridiculous, sitting with his cock jutting out ahead of him, angry and red, from below the sweep of his stomach. It was hard to focus on that, though, when Draco lifted his face, sucking one of Harry’s balls into his mouth. Harry groaned, cock twitching as Draco did it again, his hands spread on Harry’s arse and moving him in time with his mouth. 

Harry gasped when Draco lifted him again, licking down his perineum. Draco hummed, mumbling the wandless cleaning charm they often used, and Harry started at the sudden tingling of the spell working him over; he’d almost completely forgotten that himself. 

“Up,” Draco mumbled again, and Harry inched further forwards on his knees, cock bobbing as he gripped the headboard. His gasp was embarrassingly loud when Draco pulled him down to sit fully on his face. 

“Fuck,” Harry shut his eyes, mouth falling open as he felt the warm, wet slide of Draco’s mouth, his tongue, against his hole. He sighed at the pleasure of it, the low build of warmth in his belly as Draco’s lips locked over him, mouth moving in a semblance of a kiss. Harry’s knees smoothed along the bedsheets as he spread his legs wider, pressing himself harder against Draco's face. 

“Oh, shit, sorr ―” Harry started to rise, but Draco wrapped his arms around his thighs, pulling his back towards him with a rumbling moan. Harry groaned, rolling his hips and grinding himself back against Draco in time with the urging movements of Draco's hands as he set the pace. 

“Oh fuck.” Harry’s head dropped forward as he let go of the headboard, gripping his cock and fisting it loosely. He could feel his orgasm building, faster than he would have thought likely. He liked being eaten, feeling Draco’s mouth between his legs, and he loved how much Draco loved doing it. Usually, he needed a bit more ― fingers, Draco’s cock, something inside him. Tonight though, as he felt the puff of Draco's breath against his balls, as Draco sucked at him and spread his cheeks with his hands, tongue curling in deeper as Harry rode his face, Harry felt like every nerve ending in his body was centred on that one spot. He rocked his hips again, faster this time, felt the glorious burn of stubble against his skin as Draco pressed his face deeper. 

“Ah!” Harry’s lips lifted into a grimace, twisting in pleasure he screwed his eyes shut, his hand flying over his leaking cock. His balls were tight, his thighs burning as he rocked back and forth, Draco’s tongue pressing in deeper, driving him wild.

“Oh fuck yes, yes.” Harry panted, fingers clawing at the dark wood of the headboard. He felt one of Draco's hands leave his arse, moving between his own legs to fist himself. Harry groaned, low and guttural at the idea of Draco touching himself while he ate Harry out, and then again as his orgasm hit the base of his spine, running over his skin and down his legs as he came. His cock _throbbed_ as he spurted over his fist, pulse after pulse of warm washing over his fingers, onto the pillow before him, and he swayed, dizzy and overstimulated. Draco licked at him again, mouth opening wide as he exhaled in a warm rush, hips lifting off the bed as he came himself. Harry leant his head against his outstretched arm, catching his breath and letting the warm post-orgasm lethargy overtake him, as Draco’s breathing slowly came back to something slightly more normal. 

Harry summoned the energy to swing his leg over Draco, then flopped down on his back next to him. 

“Fuck,” Harry mumbled. 

“Yeah.” Draco ran his clean hand over his mouth, then Summoned his wand, cleaning the both of them up. “That was great,” Draco mumbled, voice thick as he curled closer. He kissed the top of Harry’s spine, then his nape. Harry breathed a laugh, turning onto his side and letting Draco take up the space behind him. 

“You’re going to be so tired tomorrow.” 

Draco shrugged. “Worth it. Besides, it’s good practice for when the baby comes and neither of us ever, ever sleep again.” He ended in an ominous whisper, and Harry choked out a laugh. 

“Fuck, what are we doing.” 

Draco shrugged again. “Something great.” He ran his hand over Harry’s stomach. Harry laughed again, his smile turning soft. 

“Wow. That was amazingly soppy, Draco.” 

“Shut it.” Draco swatted at him lazily, his voice already sounding heavy with sleep. 

“Next you’ll be saying you love me,” Harry teased, feeling a blessed wave of sleepiness crash over him. He said a silent prayer to the power of orgasms, and the fit, loving boyfriends who brought them to him. 

“Mmm.” Draco kissed the back of Harry’s neck again, then down to his nape. “Might say that, yes.” 

Harry smiled. “You too.” He closed his eyes, warm in his cocoon of blankets and Draco. It would get too hot soon, the blankets would end up on the floor and Harry's hair would end up in Draco’s mouth, but for now it was perfect. 

Draco's thumb rubbed back and forth at the base of Harry's stomach, just under the swell of his belly. There would be a scar there soon enough, in about four months time. A scar and a house full of noise and sleep deprivation, mess and chaos and promise and hope. Harry couldn't wait. He knew the Healers could probably get rid of the scar too, or cover it up, but he found he didn't mind the prospect of it being there to stay. He had had worse, in his life, and he was okay with ending up with this one. 

Draco kissed the back of Harry’s shoulder, a quiet brush of lips over skin. “Night, Harry.” 

Harry smiled as he hummed into the pillow, letting his eyes slip shut. “Night, love.”

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> say hello to me on [tumblr](https://shiftylinguini.tumblr.com/) if you like xxx


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